All The Broken Little Keys
by shewhoshallwrite
Summary: She was lost. That was what he always told himself. He didn't want to know the truth. He simply wanted her to come back to him.


All The Broken Little Keys

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Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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A/N: Remember. Nominate please! Nominate whatever you want. Nominate ANYTHING.

Nominate until June 15. (I would kinda like it if you nominate 24 Simple Notes. Or one of my three shots. No big deal if you dont :D)

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His fingers softly tapped them. They were out of tune. They were always out of tune. They were also chipped. But they had always been chipped. Things just never changed. He softly drew the pocket of wood-that once had the job of protecting the keys-over them. He sighed grasping the wood. Like every day since the accident his head spun.

He suffered these fainting spells for almost a year now. They had become a regular occurrence of his daily life. They had given him medication. But he no longer bothered. The medication only caused his body to reach the edge of death itself.

He had been poisoned by the medication. It was toxic. He had regular attacks of dry heaves. He vomited every night. Some days he hadnt been able to move.

But he stopped. He didnt need the medication. What he needed was her. He gripped the piano as he thought this. His vision going blank. He needed her to be sitting here. Her small little hands dancing over the piano. Over the yellowed keys. Her nails clicking against the keys. Her fingers some how avoiding all the chips that were like pot holes on the piano. Simply waiting for a careless player to get caught.

His vision slowly returned as his knees buckled. He sat on the piano bench. The rickety one she constantly put back together with wood glue. It was slowly turning gray with age. There were grooves in the wood from where she sat. She sat there every day.

She had always sat there playing softly, at all the broken little keys. Sadly, the only reason she did was because she was broken herself.

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Mitchie became lost early on. No one knew why. They simply knew it happened. Some days, she was happy. And wanted to be with everyone. But other days. Other days she would barricade herself in their room and scream if anyone tried to talk to her. She bit people. She acted like a small child. A spoiled small child.

But that was just the problem. She wasnt a small child. And she never acted as such before. When he had first met her, she was a sweet, gorgeous woman with the eyes holding the planets themselves. With skin the milky color of crushed chalk. And with hair spiraling down her back, the color of dark cherry wood, and as soft as velvet.

They were happy. They were content. They were perfect.

Until she became lost.

He never wanted to know what was really wrong with her. He refused to allow any medical professional to tell him. He simply left it as that.

She was lost.

For some reason, saying that she was 'lost' made it easier. It gave him the hope that this perfect woman would one day return to him. So he simply told himself until that day that he would put up with this.

And allowed her to do as she wished.

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Her desire, was a piano. In the early stages, she told him this. That all she truly wanted was a piano. He complied. It wasn't a good piano. It was an old piano. One that he bought for a few hundred dollars from an old man and his wife. But that was the best he could do. And it thrilled Mitchie to no end.

She loved that piano. And she loved it more than she ever loved him. This much he could tell. But he ignored it. He was simply happy, that he had pleased her tortured soul. Every day, she would sit for hours at that piano. Playing. Most of the stuff she played, it wasn't real music. She never learned how to play. So she banged at the piano.

But the piano would only keep her docile for so long. And soon she would be lost again. Locking herself away. Screaming at simple words. And throwing.

She threw so much stuff. Food. Office Supplies. If small enough, furniture. Knives.

Rocks.

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The accident, was something he didnt really like to talk about. It was upsetting for him. But some times, the story simply had to be told.

It was one of her bad days, the good days slowly becoming rare precious moments, and she didn't even play her beloved piano.

She didn't wake up.

He became scared, looking to check on her. She wasn't in bed, curled up softly sleeping as she always did.

No.

She was not there.

He looked everywhere. He found her outside. Sitting on a patio swing. Staring at the grass. Dragging her feet across the concrete floor.

He didn't notice the rock in her lap.

He softly approached her, hoping, praying that it was one of her good days.

He was wrong.

His arrival alarmed her. And she spun around gripping the rock in her hands. Her eyes wide. And she threw it.

At him.

He woke up an hour later. Blood pooled. But it wasn't his. It was hers.

And that's when his heart stopped.

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Shane had a headache. But he didn't care. It simply meant the fainting spell was fading. He sighed rubbing his forehead as he leaned against the rickety old piano.

Someday, he would be able to get rid of this piano, without his heart breaking at the thought.

Someday, he would be able to open up the room that she had once resided in.

Someday, he would stop feeling so lost.

And perhaps he would find himself.

Or maybe, like Mitchie, he never would.

And he would remain broken.

Just like the broken little keys.

That she once tapped away at.


End file.
